Needs More Dakka
by Agent HUNK
Summary: Alucard, though an odd series of events, discovers the glory of Warhammer 40,000.  Naturally, his first instinct is to request his own copy of one of the setting's iconic weapons: a bolt pistol.  The results that follow can only be described as Chaos.
1. Chapter 1

I haven't written any real fan fiction in over a year. I've been wanting to get back into it as of late, and this is one of the first ideas I came up with. I hope you all enjoy it. It may get a bit crazy at times, but that's alright. I've written crazier things, and people loved them like nobodies' business. Heh heh...

At any rate, this story is a mixture of Hellsing and some Warhammer 40,000 stuff, which is known for being very over-the-top when it comes to violence and grimdark. If you have any questions or comments, don't be afraid to drop a review. I'll do my best to answer questions and explain anything that doesn't make sense.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing or Warhammer 40,000.

(But I wish I did...)

* * *

Alucard was stalking the halls of the Hellsing manor, as was his usual habit when he had nothing better to do. Without a mission to keep him busy, Seras busy training some new recruits, and with Integra and Walter stuck in a meeting, he had nothing to entertain himself with. That was until he entered one of the break rooms, and saw a pair of Wild Geese mercenaries chatting away at a table. They had a stack of small books on the table, and were apparently discussing the contents of them between each other. "So then he takes the chainsword, and cuts the demons head off!" the bearded one swung his hand in a slashing motion.

"Seriously? Dude, I gotta read that one. I'm still workin' on Gaunt's Ghosts..." the bald mercenary beside him gestured at the large book beside him.

"Heh. I loved Gaunt's Ghosts. Don't you ever just wish you had a bolt pistol?" the bearded man grinned.

"Oh yeah! I bet even Alucard wishes he had one!" the other dog of war exclaimed with a smirk.

"Wish I had one _what_?" Alucard suddenly asked, making his presence known.

Both men visibly paled. They quickly turned to look at him, surprise and fear evident in their faces. The bearded mercenary gulped nervously, his red hair sharply contrasting with his suddenly parchment-white skin. "A b-bolt pistol, s-sir..." he stammered.

"A bolt pistol? Why would I want a gun that fires pieces of construction hardware?" the vampire frowned.

The bald man coughed, trying to clear his throat and steady his voice. "Its not a typical bolt, sir. Its a gun from a book setting, called Warhammer 40,000. Bolt pistols fire these huge bullets, called Bolts, that are basically small rocket-propelled grenades. Armor-piercing, high-explosive, self-propelled projectiles... About 75 caliber, I think."

Alucard was listening at this point. As silly as it was, a gun this powerful was worthy of his attention, fictional or not. "And you say this is a pistol?"

"Yessir," the bearded merc nodded. "Its standard issue for some guys in the Imperium of Man. Heck, the Space Marines get machine guns that fire 'em automatically, called bolters! Pretty cool... ahem... if I do say so myself..." the man muttered nervously, not wanting to irritate the No Life King.

Alucard was quite interested now. "Tell me more about these bolt pistols, and... _Space Marines_..." he arches an eyebrow at the oddity of a marine in space.

The bald mercenary grabbed a small book from the table, and held it out. The cover showed several men in bulky yellow armor charging across a desert, huge guns glazing away. "Here. Its called Heroes of the Space Marines. Maybe you'll like it?" he shrugs cautiously.

Alucard took the book, and studied the cover for a few seconds. "Interesting. You humans come up with such strange concepts. I suppose I'll give it a look."

And with that, he disappeared into a swirling torrent of darkness. Dead silence was left in his wake, the two men not sure of what to say or do. Finally, the bearded man spoke up. "You gave him my book, jerk."

. . .

A few hours later, Integra finally finished her meeting. With a splitting headache and a growling stomach, she wasn't in much of a mood to deal with anything trivial at that point. Unfortunately, something trivial was waiting in her office. Within moments of entering the room, she could already sense Alucard's presence. Almost as soon as she took a seat at her desk, her vampire servant morphed out of the shadows of the ceiling and planted himself firmly in front of her desk. "What is it, vampire?" Integra asked, hoping vainly that it was something important. As soon as he produced a set of blueprints from his jacket, she knew it wasn't.

"I need a new gun," Alucard stated firmly, his expression one of intent determination. If Integra had been smoking a cigarre at that point - she was just about to look for one - she likely would have swallowed it in shock. The vampire proceeded to unfurl the blueprints across her desk, and continued to speak. "A newer, better gun."

"What?" Integra finally recovered her senses. "Why do you need a new gun when you have two that already work bloody fine well?" she snarled in frustration. "We don't have the time or resources to research and develop-"

"Its a .75 handgun that fires self-propelled armor-piercing high-explosive projectiles, called Bolts," Alucard explained matter-o-factly. "It originated from Warhammer 40,000, and it has been known to completely evacuate the brain cavity of even the most rugged Ork."

Integra stared at him incredulously. "What?" she finally asked after several seconds of trying to process the words he'd produced from his mouth.

"Yes," Alucard nodded at the blueprints, "I was also astounded when I was first told about it. It is the perfect weapon, and I have already created the schematics and technical information needed for production." Integra continued to stare. "I need this weapon. I _must_ have this weapon."

With a deep sigh, Integra cradled her forehead in the palm of her hand. "You're serious? You honestly think we can produce something like this?"

"Throw enough money at a problem, and eventually it goes away. Isn't that a standard human philosophy?" Alucard arched an eyebrow. "And have you personally seen some of the weapons R&D has come up with for the Police Girl? What the devil was that thing they unloaded from that truck last week? Two drum fed anti-aircraft guns? Why can she have something like that, and I can't have a _pistol_?"

"Because this isn't a pistol!" Integra slammed her fists down on the blueprints in front of her. "Its a bloody figment of people's imagination!"

"Just like vampires?" Alucard smirked.

Integra stared at him, before releasing another deep sigh. "There's no arguing with you. Just... just go away. I'll talk to Walter about it..."

"Excellent..." Alucard crooned, sinking down through the floor. "You won't regret this, my Master..."

"You're right, I won't..." Integra muttered once he'd left. "Once this is over, I'll simply drink until I don't remember what it is I regret."

. . .

"ALRIGHT, DAEMON!" Alexander Anderson bellowed, drawing a pair of machete-like blades as he raced down the blood-splattered hallway of a hospital. "YER JUDGEMENT IS AT HAND! PREPARE TA FACE-"

Two thunderclaps echoed out, their roar strong enough to shatter any window unfortunate enough to be near the source. Anderson was interrupted by the resounding blasts, and almost instantly both of his legs exploded. In a haze of blood and bone, everything from his kneecap to his ankles was vaporized, and the angry priest suddenly found himself flailing wildly through the air. "WHA' ON GOD'S HOLY EARTH WAS THA'?" the Paladin screamed out in horror and agony, trying to figure out why he was suddenly on the floor. The tattered stumps of his legs fountained crimson, and the walls around him were speckled with bits of the priest's shins. Whatever had hit him, it had done so with the might of an angry god.

"That would be a bolt pistol..." Alucard grinned, holding up the nominative weapon in his right hand. Smoke rising from its barrel, the gun was freakishly huge, even when compared to his traditional weapons. Large, black, and bulky, the magazine was mounted towards the front of the gun, rather than inside of the grip. The weapon was decorated with a variety of golden engravings, including a two-headed eagle on the slide and a rather menacing skull on the grip. And it still held almost a full clip of ammunition.

"A wut?" Anderson arched a confused eyebrow.

There was another sound of thunder. The priest cartwheeled further down the hall, his right arm spiralling idly through the air. "A bolt pistol," Alucard repeated himself. He pulled the trigger again, and the gun barely recoiled as it fired, courtesy of the self-propelled nature of its bullets. Anderson screamed as his left arm flew out a nearby window. "And I brought plenty of ammo..."

* * *

Poor Anderson. Don't worry, he got better...

Well, I hope you enjoyed this dose of zany humor. I'm plotting a possible second chapter, as a 40K arms race between Alucard and Anderson is an opportunity I'm hesitant to pass up. Or, if everyone hates this story, I can save my time and drop the project.

So, if you have questions, want to read more, or think this story is a terrible idea, would you kindly drop a review and let me know? It would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

~Agent HUNK~


	2. Chapter 2

Somebody left a review in which they threatened to call the Ordo Hereticus on me if I didn't update. Well, I don't like dealing with the Holy Inquisition. So here's Chapter 2.

(I'd actually been meaning to update anyway, but haven't had the time due to school. Still though, that was an entertaining threat...)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hellsing or 40K.

* * *

"A bolt pistol, you say?" Enrico Maxwell looked down at the glaring figure occupying the hospital bed in front of him. Laying in it was Alexander Anderson, who was bandaged up from head to toe, which gave him the appearance of a pissed off mummy. Even with his regenerative abilities, the Paladin would need several days for his arms and legs to reattach properly and for some of his internal organs to regrow and begin functioning properly again.

"Aye..." the old priest growled, his face bandaged except for his bespectacled eyes. "Some sort o' fancy handgun. Blew out the windows when it shot, it was so powerful. I mean, look what it did ta me!"

"Yes, we had to scrape your spleen off a wall..." Maxwell frowns.

"Don't remind me..."

"Well, we'll see what we can find out about this new weapon. Maybe construct a similar model for you."

"Nay..." the priest shook his head, several joints popping with the movement. "You know how I feel about guns."

"Well, unless there's some melee weapon of equal power, you're going to have no choice if you want to rival that new gun Hellsing is using..." Maxwell frowns.

"Bah..."

. . . . . .

A short while later, a grinning Maxwell strolled into Anderson's hospital room. "Good afternoon, Father!"

"What is it now?" Anderson grunted.

"Well, our researches have discovered some interesting info. It seems that "bolt pistols" are supposedly fictional weapons from a science fiction game called Warhammer 40,000!" the head of Section XIII beamed cheerfully.

"You're kiddin' me..." Anderson stared, not sure why he was so cheerful.

"Oh yes. It seems Hellsing had the money and resources to make something silly into a real weapon," Maxwell grinned, potentially in an insane manner.

"Er... ye feelin' okay, boss?" Anderson was starting to grow concerned.

"Oh yes. And you're going to be feeling okay quite soon. Because it seems that bolt pistols are one of the main weapons used by Space Marines," Maxwell explained in a merry manner.

"Space Mehrines?" Anderson arched an eyebrow behind his glasses. "Er... did you steal my morphine?"

"No no no," Maxwell shook his head. "And you won't need it soon enough. Not when you hear what else Space Marines weild."

"Er... wut?" Anderson asked, entirely confused and somewhat worried by this point.

Maxwell simply pulled a picture from his vest and set it on Anderson's chest. The priest looked down, and saw an image of a man in hulking armor, fighting off hordes of viscious-looking aliens with claws, fangs, and insectoid forms. In one hand, he was firing a bolt pistol. And in the other hand, he was swinging... a sword. But not just any sword. A sword with a rotating chain of metal teeth along its blade, just like a chainsaw. Anderson stared at the image, focused entirely on the glory of the chainsword. Finally, he looked up at Maxwell and simply asked: "When?"

. . . . . .

A few weeks later, Alucard was casually strolling through an abandoned warehouse, blasting away at ghouls while whistling a merry tune. Killing zombies had been fun when he used his normal pistol. Now, killing was an _art_. The way the bolt pistol blew limbs off and sent them spinning wildly through the air. The way it detonated a split-second after impact, resulting in an internal explosion, rather than an exit wound. Rib cages burst, torsos ruptured, and skulls exploded like crimson firecrackers. He began to challenge himself, trying to hit ghouls in strategic locations to pull of macabre stunts. As he rounded a corner and spotted another ghoul shambling from behind some cargo crates, his bolt pistol thundered once again. The shot hit the ghoul in the throat, and the resulting explosion of the projectile sent the zombie's head rocketing skyward. It hit the ceiling, bounced back from the force of the impact, and thunked down atop the chest of its own sprawled-out body. Alucard chuckled softly to himself. He was getting good at this.

"Only a monster like ye would find such entartainment wit' sumthin' like tha'..." a voice growled from nearby.

Alucard spun around, and trained his new weapon on the speaker. Lo and behold, Alexander Anderson was lurking atop a large metal crate, watching Alucard like a hawk. His arms were folded across his chest, his hands tucked into the breasts of his flowing coat. Alucard recognized that stance. Anderson had his hands on some swords inside his coat, more than likely. Such was his usual tactic. Alucard sometimes wished he'd try something new. Oh well, the No Life King thought, he never grew bored of watching Anderson flail around limbless, actually trying to _bite_ him. "Greetings, Judas Priest. Literally looking down upon me, I see..."

"I have a score ta settle, daemon..." Anderson growled.

"Yes, yes, I know..." the vampire smirked. "How's the spleen?" Anderson simply glared, his eyes burning with hatred from behind his glasses. "Hm. Not going to bite, eh?" Alucard smirked. "Then lets just get down to business!" he grinned insanely, suddenly raising his weapon and pulling the trigger.

The bolt pistol roared. But so did something else. A pair of motors suddenly snarled to life, their engines revving to maximum speed with a mighty howl. At the same moment Alucard had pulled the trigger, Anderson had pulled his hands from his jacket, and brought two weapons out to play. The roaring engines were mounted on these weapons - Anderson had a nifty new pair of chainswords. The swords were gunmetal grey, engraved with religious iconography and holy scripture. A small engine was mounted above the hilt of each weapon, and the blades themselves looked like elongated chainsaws. The teeth of the chains glinted as they spun - each tooth was an individually blessed silver blade.

Alucard was so caught off guard by Anderson drawing the weapons, he didn't even realize Anderson had ducked under the bolt itself. The priest had dove forward, and the self-propelled projectile had streaked right over his head. As the Paladin let out a fierce snarl of bloodlust, Alucard snapped back into reality. The vampire tried to fire his weapon again, but Anderson managed to twist himself aside so that the shot missed. He fired another shot, and Anderson managed to duck beneath it. The priest was closing the distance!

The bolt pistol roared again, only feet seperating the two combatants. There was a flash of silver, a shower of sparks, and a small explosion in the air. Alucard had barely seen what had happened, the speed of the event blindingly fast. Anderson had swept his roaring chain-blades up as the weapon fired, and _deflected the bullet_. The roaring teeth of the chainblade had caught the projectile as it rocketed forward, and the torque of the sawing motion had spun the bullet off course. But now they were at point blank range. One pull of the trigger, and-

The vampire pulled the trigger, and heard only a click instead of a thunderclap.

The bolt pistol was out of ammo. Alucard tried to swear. He didn't get the chance.

. . . . . . .

Integra was strolling down the halls of the Hellsing Manor, reading the newest combat report. Alucard had been defeated. Anderson had shown up with some new weapons of his own, and a battle royale had erupted. A few embarassing moments later, and Alucard was forced to flee, his body in tatters and his ego in worse shape. It was doubtless she'd hear the end of this any time soon. She had a feeling Alucard would be coming to her soon to complain. And as she opened the door to her office, her feeling came true.

"_Master_," the voice of her pet vampire stated firmly. Alucard was standing behind her desk, his outline framed in the window by the moonlit sky behind him.

"Alucard, wha-" Integra froze. Her desk - her immaculately clean and orderly desk - was covered from one end to the other in books, magazines, and small miniature models, all having something to do with Warhammer 40,000.

Alucard helds his hands up, fingers grasping at nothing, and with a deranged look in his eyes declared: "_I need_... _more_... _**dakka**_..."

* * *

Heh heh heh. And so it begins...

Hope y'all enjoyed this newest chapter. The next one should be up in the next couple of weeks, if my college doesn't keep trying to suffocate me with work. At any rate, please take the time to review my story, and let me know what you thought. Feedback and constructive criticism reeeeeally help me to give you, the reader, the best fan fiction experience you can get. So, if you want to help me help you, or just give me something to smile about, please leave me a review!

Thanks a'plenty, and God bless.

Oh wait... One more thing...

* * *

Meanwhile, down in the barracks, two mercenaries were happily chatting about something inconsequential. The bald merc and the bearded merc, who had originally led to Alucard's bizarre obsession, were completely oblivious as to what was going on in the grand scheme of things. Which made what happened next even more shocking to them. As they approached their bunks, they noticed that the metal footlock under the bearded man's bed had been broken open... and all the contents were gone.

"_**WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO ALL MY WARHAMMER STUFF?**_" his scream echoed into the night.

* * *

-Agent HUNK


End file.
